


step by step

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Coping, Domestic, Eddie Kaspbrak Has OCD, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Recovery, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: He goes to the master bathroom and spends two minutes brushing his teeth and five minutes washing his face. It's a long,longmoment of himself staring in the mirror, unable to think of anything except the sensation of his skin crawling and his mind shooting a thousand maddening barbed thoughts at him at once, before he decides to just shower.Ten minutes in the shower, two minutes to wash his hair. Another two-minute round of brushing his teeth; a beat of hesitation, and he adds another minute to bring it up to five.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 169
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	step by step

**Author's Note:**

> just a short little drabble to cope with some feelings I'm having about my ocd right now!! love eddie!! have to kin him!!

Eddie wakes up in the morning and stares directly at the wall. It takes him a little bit of time to get himself up, but he does it, even though it's a Saturday. Richie's still fast asleep, face smashed into their pillows; Eddie stops to tug their covers up over his shoulders and kisses the back of his head twice.

He goes to the master bathroom and spends two minutes brushing his teeth and five minutes washing his face. It's a long,  _ long  _ moment of himself staring in the mirror, unable to think of anything except the sensation of his skin crawling and his mind shooting a thousand maddening barbed thoughts at him at once, before he decides to just shower.

Ten minutes in the shower, two minutes to wash his hair. Another two-minute round of brushing his teeth; a beat of hesitation, and he adds another minute to bring it up to five. His gums are bleeding a little but he ignores it.

Richie's still asleep when Eddie sneaks back through their room, stealthily slipping on his running clothes. He grabs his fanny pack and his phone off its charger before slipping out.

He has to avoid the cracks in their tile floors as he steps through their kitchen. It's the way he does this every day; he barely even notices anymore.

Once his sneakers are on and he's outside, stretching on the front lawn, he has to stretch each limb ten times in a row, then loop back around, over and over, until he's done each one a hundred times each. His muscles are warmed and toned after doing this nearly every day for years; it's easy, now.

Eddie drowns out the voices and thoughts pinging around his head with music. He knows, logically, that they don't really belong to him, venomous invaders to his brain; it still makes it hard not to listen. The playlist is all songs intended to keep his heart rate high and his mind occupied, as best as he can.

He can't step in the cracks in the sidewalk. He has to make sure his feet fall the exact same amount of times in each huge square of cement, backing up when he misses one to do it over again. It's worse than normal today, tugging at the back of his brain when he fucks one up until he goes back. He feels, slowly, like he's filling up with static, brain going quiet as he slowly grows more numb and apathetic.

He's back to their house in an hour and a half. It would've been shorter by maybe thirty minutes, but he'd had to go back multiple times to restart his path.

Eddie feels tired when he gets inside, bone-deep tired, aching as he drags himself back to the bedroom with intentions to get into their shower. Richie's sitting up blearily, though, so Eddie stops at the foot of the bed instead; Eddie feels like he can barely focus his eyes, hardly present in the room as he stares at no particular fixed point on the bedspread.

"How's your jog?" Richie asks. He yawns, fumbles for his glasses. Eddie feels a pang of shame; he frowns.

"Fine," Eddie says. "Shower."

"Mm?" Richie asks. Eddie motions towards the bathroom. "You okay?"

"Weird morning," Eddie tells him. Richie pushes their covers back. Eddie doesn't move, waiting, frozen in place, as Richie comes to him in only his boxers, bare skin still creased from the lines in their sheets all over.

"Feeling funky?" Richie asks. Eddie nods. "The OCD or something else?"

"OCD," Eddie answers quietly. The shame spikes through him again, hot and then gone. "My head's just—" Eddie makes a shaky gesture near his head with both hands. "Freaking out today. I'm fucking—"

"Hey, shh," Richie shushes him, pulling him in and embracing him around his shoulders and his upper back, hugging him tight. He presses a kiss to the crown of Eddie's head, and Eddie sighs, closing his eyes. He forces his jaw to relax, unaware he'd even been grinding his teeth and wondering how long he's been doing it.

"Sorry," Eddie mumbles into Richie's chest. He wraps his arms loosely around Richie's waist and just leans into him, eyes still closed. He taps Richie's back accidentally with one fingertip, so he has to tap his bare skin again with each of the others until he's tapped him ten times each.

"Twitchy Eddie today," Richie says, kissing his head again five times in quick succession. Eddie sighs again, forcing his jaw to relax again. There's a dull headache starting at the back of his skull. "Don't be sorry, Eds.  _ I'm _ sorry your noodle's bugging you today. Can I do anything?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"Wanna sleep s'more?" Richie asks. Eddie hesitates, then nods. "Alright, let's scrub you down, Sweaty Betty. Then I'll snuggle you to your heart's content until you doze off to the dreamland of mental health and wellness."

Eddie snorts. "Stupid fantasy."

"You come further and further every day," Richie murmurs into his hair. "Don't worry about a couple rough days, Eds. They're not your fault. You work so hard, it's bound to happen."

Eddie nods. His brain keeps whirring, telling him to destroy something, to destroy himself, to destroy Richie, to burn the house down, to smash the mirror above their dresser; he forces the thoughts aside, the thoughts humming down to a dull roar.

Richie tugs him by the wrist to the shower, moving quick and chatting through the entire thing so Eddie's brain doesn't have any time to insert opinions or extra thoughts. Eddie exhales slowly, eyes closed under the warm spray as Richie's hands scratch his scalp and scrub conditioner out of his hair, his shoulders finally losing a little bit of their tension to relax some.

"There you go," Richie tells him softly. He dries Eddie just as tenderly and softly, quick and easy, before dressing him in his own clothes and pulling him back to bed.

When they're tucked back under the covers, Eddie buries his face in Richie's throat, keeping his eyes closed as Richie slowly rubs his back. Eddie just clings to his side, letting his breathing slow down.

"I love you," Richie tells him quietly. "You're doing amazing. Just get some rest, I'll be here when you've gotten some more sleep, okay? You'll feel a lot better."

Eddie nods, forcing his body to relax limb by limb, one joint at a time. Richie kisses the top of his head as he finally gets himself back to sleep, relaxed and pleasantly content and hazy as Richie hums to lull him away.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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